Page 7 of Before Eve
CHAPTER 4
Two morningslater Anne and I arrive at the amphitheater for our first day of roadie work for Indie Fest. We jump right in, following all of Ford’s commands as we haul equipment, tape wires, and coil cables. We ignore the stares and whispers of the other roadies. They’ll soon realize we pull our own weight. Plus, it never takes long for everyone to like Anne. She’s cool. Plain and simple.
The entire day Ford walks around, hovering, watching, making sure we’re doing everything to his standard. Hopefully, he’ll soon learn he won’t have to hover so much where Anne and I are concerned.
At six o’clock he snags me from backstage as I’m pulling my hair into a stubby ponytail. “Ms. Kelly needs waiters in the VIP lounge,” he tells me.
I slip my ponytail through my usual ball cap. “Ms. Kelly?”
“She manages Bus Stop and also put together this whole festival. For this year she’s everyone’s boss, including mine.”
Ford nods me on, and I trail behind him through the amphitheater and into a private party room.
A lady in a red pantsuit approaches. I’d say she’s probably in her forties and though she’s not smiling, she seems okay, Iguess. Very business-like and focused with her dark hair in a low bun, black glasses, and deep burgundy lipstick.
“Hello, Ford,” she greets him in a clear voice that holds a bit of an accent, though I can’t immediately place it. “Thanks for the last-minute help. The venue promised to provide waitstaff for the VIP area, but a couple didn’t show.”
Australian, that’s her accent.
Ford smiles. “No problem. This is Eve. She’s a new hire. She worked really hard today. I’m sure she’ll do fine for you.” Ford turns to me. “I need to get back. Sorry about the change up.”
“No problem.” I offer a smile. “All good.”
Ford heads off, and I turn to Ms. Kelly as she gives me a once-over. “Do you have any lipstick or anything?”
“No, ma’am.”
She hands me a blue apron. “Put this on.” She nods to the ball cap. “Take that off and finger comb your hair.” Then she spins on her heel. “Follow me.”
She puts me behind a sandwich table. “There’s a box of plastic gloves.” She offers me a kind smile. “Basically just be nice and hand people whatever they ask for.”
“I got it. Don’t worry. This sandwich table is officially covered.”
She winks. “Thanks, Eve.”
I love that she remembered my name.
Outside, the festival kicks into full gear with blaring music and a cheering crowd. I stand behind this table for what feels like forever, occasionally handing sandwiches to people with VIP status: sponsors, musicians, family members, reporters.
But I’d give anything to be out there right now, listening to the music. Even to just stand near an amp and feel the thump-thump-thump punching through my blood.
Eventually, the festival is over, the doors open, and the VIProom fills. People move around, meeting each other, drinking, eating. Some guy from one of the bands sinks onto a leather couch, pulling a woman down beside him. She kisses his neck. I can’t imagine kissing a guy’s neck in front of everybody. I can’t imagine kissing a guy’s neck period.
I hear West before I see him—his laughter, his voice—and my pulse does all kinds of weird dancing. My stomach drops a little bit in both apprehension and excitement as I scan the crowd.
“I’ll take the veggie wrap,” a woman says, and I hand her a plate and a napkin.
West steps up. “Hey, Blue Eyes, whatcha serving?”
“Sandwiches,” I awkwardly state the obvious.
He looks different than before. Sweaty. Hot. As in temperature hot, not sexy hot. Although he is that, too.
Taking a swig from his water bottle, he looks briefly at the giant Pink Panther centered on the front of my tee, just visible beneath the blue apron. “Got turkey?” he asks.
I hand him a small plate with a turkey sandwich lying on top of a lettuce decoration and try to swallow without him noticing. I don’t want him to know he makes me nervous.
Still smiling, he takes a bite. “First after party?”
